


Astra inclinant, sed non obligant

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 09:46:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18466444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: Hand cradled against her bosom, Lyanna looked her brother in the eyes as she spoke. “But I do not wish to return,” she insisted, knowing in spite of the words that she would go with him, not because she accepted it as the best road to take, but because , as matters stood, she had nowhere else to turn.Brandon frowned. He reached for her, holding her shoulder in a firm grip. Her one step taken backwards did not dissuade him in the least. “Quite enough out of you, Lyanna. Father will have had a letter from me by now and is sure to be quite put out with you. Do not make the situation any harder.” She wished, quite dearly, father had told him precisely where he could shove his interfering ways, but as far as the world was concerned she was a woman in love. And to some degree she was; in love enough not to betray the knowledge which had been granted her.





	Astra inclinant, sed non obligant

## Then

Hand cradled against her bosom, Lyanna looked her brother in the eyes as she spoke. “But I do not wish to return,” she insisted, knowing in spite of the words that she would go with him, not because she accepted it as the best road to take, but because , as matters stood, she had nowhere else to turn.

Brandon frowned. He reached for her, holding her shoulder in a firm grip. Her one step taken backwards did not dissuade him in the least. “Quite enough out of you, Lyanna. Father will have had a letter from me by now and is sure to be quite put out with you. Do not make the situation any harder.” She wished, quite dearly, father had told him precisely where he could shove his interfering ways, but as far as the world was concerned she was a woman in love. And to some degree she was; in love enough not to betray the knowledge which had been granted her.

“I will not return,” she reiterated, shrugging his hand off. The touch felt heavy upon her and she could not endure it a moment longer. “If what you say is true, father would not wish to see me in any event. Just leave me here.” She gestured to the chamber surrounding them. Fully furnished with and decorated with a personal touch, it was a space meant to keep her in comfort. She might have wished for lesser heat, but the moon turns passing had managed to inure her to it.

Her brother gave her no words. Instead he lifted her, throwing her weight over his shoulder with ease. Lyanna winced. Any attempt at escape was futile; not with all his companions about and certainly not without some word from Rhaegar. After all, his plans would suffer some alteration. And she had but to wait to learn what her role would become.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Father gave her a long, searching look in the stillness of the chamber. She did not look away, nor shifted in her seat. The wait was not a long one. “I never thought he would follow.” Neither had she; and neither had she counted on the King’s delight in thwarting his son’s affair of the heart. Albeit, she suspected it had more to do with the man’s knowledge of Rhaegar’s actual plans. “We cannot risk writing His Grace now.” Lyanna agreed with a nod.

“I thought we might use Ned to carry a message. Lady Ashara may write to her brother without being suspected of some nefarious plans.”

Benjen’s horrified look struck a cord with her, more so because the gravity of the situation dawned upon her. She breathed in shakily. “There now, do not panic,” she told him, motioning for the cup on the table. He understood without her having to ask. Taking a mouthful of wine, she washed her mouth out, before spitting the contents in the chamber pot.

“But you’re sick.” She kept her gaze downwards, looking at the remains of what had been a tasty meal. She shuddered and replaced the lid back before sitting up.

“’Tis no sickness, brother mine. And you need not panic over this. It shall pass.” Benjen did not seem convinced. Lyanna did not suppose she might readily blame him; her brother was very much a child and some matters were a mystery to him. And he was much too young to recall their last year with mother. “Help me up.”

A child he might be. But his arm was steady. For that she was thankful. For a brief moment balance eluded he and she swayed, dangerously close to collapsing to the side. Might be she would have taken Benjen with her, but something, some inner core emanating strength into her limbs kept her from disaster. It was imperative that she seem better in his eyes, elsewise he’d given her away.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You mustn’t lace it too tightly.” Nan warned, loosening some of the laces. “Best to just wear a shawl over your shoulders.” It would be a good enough screen, she supposed, but it could also prove a bit too little to hide the truth from Brandon’s eyes. Albeit, Brandon was more or less busy with his new wife and paid her little enough attention to her and her thickening waistline. She nodded to Nan’s words and turned around in order to search for one of the shawls she’d received from Ned.

“Do you think I might have the maester take a look for good measure,” she asked after moment.

“Not yet, my lamb. Wait a moon turn more.” It was not as though she feared Walys Flowers or her father.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She saw the anger lining every movement. She was the tick in his jaw. She even saw the very real possibility of ending up bruised on his account. But for all that, Lyanna could not bring herself to summon an ounce of regret. Straightening to the best of her ability, she looked him in the eye and said, “I wouldn’t change a thing, even if I could.” Laying a protective hand on the visible bump, Lyanna continued, “This is my child. Mine and His Grace’s. Should aught happen on your account, I will make certain you pay. Tenfold.”

Her brother looked stricken. He took one step back, as though she had delivered a blow. “What manner of sister are you? Nay; what manner of woman?” She shrugged. “He used you and the he abandoned you. Can’t you see that?”

He’s written. It was more than Brandon had done for Barbrey; Barbrey whom had come to the gates of Winterfell in tears. She tried not to think on that. “You would know all about using others, wouldn’t you?” Visible annoyed, her brother gave her a sharp look. “I am going to my bedchamber.”

“Father shall hear about this.” The warning came much too late.

“I keep no secrets from our sire, Brandon. I am not you, liable to get in scrapes and hide their results.” She had simply wished to make certain all was well ; that the seed caught. Turning to look at her sibling again, she said, “If you wish to make a spectacle of this, go ahead. I may sink no lower than I have.” After all, in the eyes of the realm she was quite ruined. Not that Lyanna minded so much now that she knew the sacrifice hadn’t been in vain.

“This is not the end of it, sister.” She left him there to stew as he would.   

 

 

* * *

  

 

## Now

 

 

Jocelyn glanced down at the face so much like hers and shuddered to see the bruises and the blood thickened along her hairline. She scrupulously kept her gaze away from their brother, in spite of hearing his urgent calls. Jon was trying to rouse Jeyne, might be not yet certain they beheld a corpse before them. Again she shook with fear and revulsion. And her eyes moved to one limp hand, pressed unnaturally against the cold, hard ground.

“She’s gone.” Jocelyn could feel it in her bones, in her flesh and tissue even. Much like an aching tooth one prodded at only to find it gone. “She’s gone.” The second time the words were for herself. She couldn’t believe her sister was gone. The hard ball in her stomach erupted in shard and splinters, lodging into soft walls, tearing at her insides. Tears formed in her eyes and the ache choked her. Jeyne was gone.

Jon rose, lifting the body along. She died alone. Out in the woods. In the dark. Before the eyes of the gods. She died without a kind word or gentle touch to see her over. Tears fell. “Your lips are blue with cold. Run back to the keep.”

Her sister’s lips were blue with death. How could she bear to warm herself before a fire when Jeyne lied limp in Jon’s arms. Jocelyn shook her head and moved to the side, as though to give him space to pass. She looked away once more, at the faithless tree which ought to have protected Jeyne. Might be the Andals had been right to burn them down. She wished she had a torch on her to do the same. Her lips quivered with the effort of keeping her ire locked away. “Come, Jocelyn; the winds grow fierce.”

She followed obediently.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“The wedding.” They’d stopped in the middle of the road, Jocelyn tugging on her brother’s sleeve. “The wedding; what will we do about the wedding?” Jon blinked. He looked down into the face of their dead sister. He’d known as well as she what it had meant for Jeyne. “I could go.”

The eldest sibling jumped at the words. “What are you saying?” She heard it in his voice, the horror, the doubt. Jocelyn stood frozen in her spot, the despicable nature of her suggestion settling in at long last. They were not interchangeable. “Jocey, you take that back.”

“I can’t,” she sobbed after a moment. “She wanted to know, more than anything, she wanted to know.”

“And you wish to serve the Maiden.” That was not, strictly speaking, true. Jeyne had been the one asked to wed, not her. And since one miracle was enough for one family, she had simply supposed another its like would not come soon. It’d seemed the decent thing to do.

“Not enough that I would abandon my sister’s dream.” They all had to know, she told herself, more to bolster the little voice in her mind whispering that she go through with it. “Something there changed her;  I beg you to let me try.”  

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It felt strange to wear the garments of a dead woman. The garments of a dead sister, her mind commented, as though taking pleasure in her discomfort. She had changed them herself, with Jon keeping watch. The household would just be stirring, and their return would be marked, but she hoped not well enough for them to realise her clothes were smeared and damp, while her sister’s clean and dry. Her throat clogged once more as she thought of the young wife and mother her sister would never become.

Why had it mattered so much to listen to that voice; the voice of the gods, her sister had said. Well she would burn all the temples down until she found the deity responsible for the outrage. But they were nearing the keep and she did her best to draw her cloak better about her, to hide away the splotches and damp spots.

The household was, indeed, awake. Their return marked by guards and servants alike, one of the kitchen maids running up to them, out of breath and panicked. It seemed their absence had not gone unnoticed either.

All she could do was stare dumbly as her brother explained they would need the maester. That Jocelyn had fallen. To hear her name tied to the body, it turned the blood in her veins to ice.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“My babe; my poor babe.” Mother was holding Jeyne, rocking back and forth gently as she wept over her little girl. That was what she’d called her as soon as she laid eyes upon her. Her little girl; Jocelyn could not endure more of that. She stood by the window, doing her best to ignore it all. She did not wish to be reminded of her sister’s fate. “To think that only the other day,” mother trailed off.

The other day they’d been taking measurements for the kyrtles. She would have to wear her sister’s wedding gown. She would have to take her sister’s place. The thought terrified her. She could not imagine herself doing so. Not because there were any great dissimilarities between them. In fact, she and Jeyne had often enough traded placed as jests and jokes, or simply to amuse herself. Even mother could be confused at times and the woman had birthed them.

She finally sat down in one of the empty chairs. “I cannot stay here.”

“What?” She had spoken out loud? Jocelyn had not meant to.

“I cannot stay here.” Her courage would fade, sapped by the lifeless husk that was her sister and by her own doubts.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She twisted the gilt girdle’s end between her fingers. More abuse and she thought the string holding the beads together might break. For all that she could not keep still. Mother had tipped her head back and was carefully applying the kohl to her eyes. “Jeyne, my sweet girl; you leave me too.” Jocelyn almost did not react to those words.

“Not at all, mother; as soon as I am comfortable in my new situation, I shall have you brought to me.” Jeyne wouldn’t have wished their mother involved; Jocelyn did not wish her kept in the dark.

Lyanna Stark sighed softly. “Winterfell is my home.”  

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Her mother would not join her for the wedding feast. Instead, she was to have her grandfather present, along with his heir. Uncle Brandon had insisted on having his wife along and Lady Catelyn had in turn insisted that her eldest children be brought as well. Jocelyn was not all that glad to have Sansa with her, though she supposed the always jovial Robb was not that bad.

The only true blessing was Jon. Jon who at the moment was making her very unhappy with his constant reminders that she still had time to make a clean breast of it and give up the plan. “I am not changing my mind,” she hissed, doing her best not to attract attention. As much as she wished he would stop, she wished even more that their argument not be noticed by grandfather.

“I am not saying you have to. Merely that you can, if you so wish.” Blinking owlishly at him, Jocelyn sucked in a breath. He held her gaze for a long moment before patting her hair gently. As was his custom, he dropped his hand to her waist, palm gently touching her. Leaning in, he whispered, “If you dare go at it on your own, I shall never forgive you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Her sister had found herself a most elevated position; the wife of a great lord’s heir. Jocelyn knew that Willas Tyrell was not quite as dazzling prospect as her cousin Robb might seem, or as the Crown Prince was to many a maiden, or even as someone like the somewhat old to have not been wedded heir of Lord Arryn. But her sister had called him kind and warm-hearted. A man who would make little demand of her.

Jocelyn looked at the sturdy cane he used to keep himself upright. He was by no means hard on the eye. And were it not for the twisted leg, somewhat visible by the outline of the garb he wore, he would have been a most perfect specimen. It would be a lie to say she’d not been the slightest bit envious of her sister’s good fortune.

The man regarded her with a serious mien, she did not doubt in response to her own appearance. Jeyne had smiled somewhat easier than she did, finding it that much more rewarding to engage the world around her. But only slightly more so.

The Septon spoke, interrupting her musings. She gave the man her attention, clutching the flowers and weeds in her hands, a bouquet created for her sister, containing all the flowers she loved.   

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He knew.  Eyes as wide as saucers, Jocelyn regarded her husband of one day, wondering if it would be best to run out of the chamber or simply attempt to explain herself. Jon was only down the hall, she reasoned. He would be more than glad to take her away at a word from her. Shuddering almost violently at the look upon her bedmate’s face, she licked her dry lips.

 “Well?” The demand was met with silence. What could she possibly answer? That her sister had begun acting strange since her return and she suspected something had happened in his home? That would never do.

“How could you possibly know?” she demanded in turn. Not even mother could distinguish between them at times. And this man had seen through the ruse in mere hours. His lips thinned and curbed in a scowl. She held her own though; as she would until she heard an explanation.

Her husband stared at her, eyes burning into her very soul. At long last, when silence reigned between them, he reached and tugged the covers from her, revealing signs of the previous night. “You thought that if you sister died you may take her place and none would be the wiser?”

It dawned upon her that she should not have relied purely on aesthetics to see her through the scheme. But then how could she have known her sister had gone so far for her dreams? “Is this your angle then; the both of you seem quite willing to toy with the emotions of those around you as long as you’re satisfied.”

“Toy? My sister loved you,” Jocelyn protested. “You were a good man; a kind, warm-hearted man.”

He snorted. “A man who would not be an obstacle in her path.” She froze. Her sister had said as much.

“She was murdered.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He listened to her. She could not accuse him of being unwilling to hear her out. Jocelyn looked to Jon for aid, but her brother had simply plopped himself into a chair and waited for her to begin. Thus she did, seeing no way around it. Recounting her sister’s behaviour and what she’d heard since her return, she took the story until the moment of discovering the body.

Whatever Ser Willas had said of Jeyne, she could see it in his face that the knowledge she imparted upon him was shocking. It was something, she told herself. Something she could use.

“So you see, ser, I do this not out of malice, but out of love.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I warned you.” Jon did love running salt into wounds. Jocelyn was not prepared to give him more ammunition, thus she kept silent as he made certain she was unharmed. Much as she disliked his prodding and searching, she suffered though it with a calm mien. “You would have done best to listen.”

“Do you think she was with child?” The thought was a random one, realisation coming far too late.

Jon paused. “The maester would have said something.” She bit into her lower lip. She did not keep secrets from Jon.

“He opened her chest cavity. What can he find if he doesn’t look?” Her brother nodded slowly.

“Might be it is best that we not know,” he offered in the end.   

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The undercurrent to their conversation was keenly felt at the table. Jocelyn did not fool herself into believing otherwise. If she was lucky, they would simply suppose it was a minor misunderstanding. If not; the gods knew old Olenna had more than enough thorns and barbs to torture her into revealing the truth.

Willas took her aside at long last. He sat her down. “If you lie to me ever again, you will yourself thrown out on your ear, all your sister’s sins exposed along with yours.” She nodded; not out of contrition, but out of some misplaced hope. “For now, we shall continue this charade.”   

 

 


End file.
